


First Impressions Often Lie

by lordmxrphy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6229531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordmxrphy/pseuds/lordmxrphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you had told Clarke Griffin six months ago that she would be here—in the headmaster’s office, facing expulsion, she would have laughed in your face. And if you’d told her it would be beside the curly-haired, loud-mouthed, ridiculous boy holding her hand like it’s his last life-line—if you’d told her it would be because she was in love with Bellamy Blake, she never would have believed you. Not in a million years.</p>
<p>Or... a bellarke boarding school AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you guys are intrigued. **Kudos and comments** are the best way to tell me if you guys want to see more of this story.
> 
> You can also come find me on [my tumblr](http://antebellamy.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat. (I'm nice, I promise.)

Clarke never thought she’d end up here. She never thought she’d end up in the headmaster’s office, seated straight-backed waiting for someone else to decide her fate—her future.

If you had told Clarke Griffin a year ago—six months ago—that she would be here, in the headmaster’s office, facing expulsion, she would have laughed in your face. And if you’d told her it would be beside the curly-haired, loud-mouthed, ridiculous boy holding her hand like it’s his last life-line—if you’d told her it would be because she was in love with Bellamy Blake, she never would have believed you. Not in a million years.

And yet, somehow, it’s all true.

But she's getting ahead of herself. She should probably start at the beginning…

**August** _(seven months earlier)_

The air is hot and stifling. A bead of sweat takes a curving path from her forehead down the side of her neck. Her hair is pulled tight into a ponytail, but the ends stick to her skin and she can’t do anything about it, too busy carrying the heavy box to the stairs of her new home.

She pauses in front of the stairs, resting the box on railing to gaze up at the impressive structure in front of her. Arkadia’s dormitory is where all the students live. It’s been there for years, but it has air conditioning and during August, that’s all that Clarke really cares about.

“Need some help, princess?” A voice calls from behind her.

Clarke turns and finds a dark haired boy with a duffel bag on his shoulder smirking at her. He’s handsome in a way that’s almost unfair. Freckles pepper his skin and his shoulders are broad and muscular. Clarke slides the box off the railing with a grunt, it’s half to prove to the asshole that no, she doesn’t need his help, but also to give herself something to do rather than stare at his stupid pretty face.

“I’m good, thanks,” she says over her shoulder, bitterness coloring her tone.

There’s a prop in the door and she makes it inside when the guy catches up with her. He doesn’t offer to help again, just leans against the wall and waits while she tries to walk up the stairs without tripping.

“I don’t have all day, princess.”

“Please stop calling me that,” she grits between clenched teeth.

She barely knows him, but she can hear the laugh in his voice without even turning to look.

“Listen, as much as I’m enjoying the view, I have places to be so if you’re not going to let me help, at least let me slide by.”

Clarke sets the heavy box (seriously, how do clothes weigh this much??) on the landing at the top of the stairs and waits for the guy to pass her.

He smiles and gives her a salute when he passes, all cocky confidence, “It’s been a pleasure…princess.”

He grins when she shoots him a glare and disappears up the flight of stairs. There’s a fumble followed by a curse behind her and Clarke turns to find her father huffing beneath two boxes.

“Honey, what did you pack in here? Bricks?”

Clarke smiles at her dad, “No, I’m pretty sure they’re books,” she laughs at his exasperated groan.

“What floor are you on again?”

She sighs, “Six.”

 

* * *

 

It takes a lot of breaks and a fair bit of sweat, but eventually they get all of Clarke’s things to her room and unpacked. Her roommate’s side is already set up so Clarke takes the spare bed.

She and her dad grab lunch at the sandwich place in town and Clarke says goodbye to her dad outside the dormitory. She doesn’t cry, but she’s pretty sure her dad’s eyes go misty.

It’s hard, this is the first time she’s going to be living away from him, but Arkadia is one of the best boarding schools in the country. When she’d told her dad that her mom had brought up the idea while Clarke had been spending the weekend with her, she could tell that her dad thought it was good opportunity.

Her parents had been divorced for years and now she mostly lived with her dad, with every other weekend spent at her mom’s. Her mother worked a lot, she was president of one of the most prestigious colleges of the country, so she didn’t have a lot of time to spend with her daughter. And Clarke never really connected with her mom the way she did with her dad. They were alike in so many ways—driven, serious—but her dad is the one she called when her first girlfriend broke up with her. He was the one who’d always kiss her scrapes better and who would chase butterflies with her in the summer.

She was going to miss her dad a lot, but Arkadia was a great school and they had Skype and phone calls. She would be fine, she always was.

When she makes it back to her room, there are two boys on her bed. One of them is dark-skinned and handsome, he has a beard and is wearing a beanie despite the sweltering summer outside their window. The other boy…is the asshole from the stairs.

They both look up when she enters, surprise and confusion painted across both their faces. The boy in the beanie breaks the silence first.

“Wait are you Clarke? Clarke Griffin.”

She nods, creeping realization dawns.

_No. No way._

The boy she met in the stairwell earlier throws his head back and laughs, “Damn, the school is going have a field day with this.”

And that’s how Clarke meets her roommate.


	2. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is going to be a flash fic. I'm writing as much as I can at once and posting it as I go. There will probably be some mistakes, but I'll fix those later. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Leave a comment letting me know if you do.

**September**

It turns out that the people in charge of room assignments overlooked one very important fact about Clarke Griffin. The fact that she’s a girl. She guesses she has her parents to blame for giving her a gender-neutral name.

Her roommate turns out to be Nathan Miller, the boy in the beanie and the guy beside him is his best friend, Bellamy Blake. 

When the school—and her mother—find out about the mix up it’s a little bit of a disaster. But it turns out that there’s a group on campus that’s been lobbying for the school to implement gender-neutral housing (which Clarke is very much in favor of) and, in the end, she doesn’t end up having to move, much to her mother’s discomfort.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mom, I’m sure.”

“You won’t be uncomfortable? Living with a boy?”

“It’ll be an adjustment, but it’s not a big deal. I’ll be fine.”

Eventually, she manages to convince her mother that it’s okay and she ends up roommates with Nathan Miller (“Just Miller,” he tells her when she calls him Nathan). 

She likes Miller, he seems like a good guy. He doesn’t say much, but he’s the kind of quiet that makes it seem like he’s always three steps ahead of everyone else in the room. And during the room assignment debacle, he makes a comment about how the school shouldn’t conform to the ridiculous, heterosexist gender binary and Clarke knows she’s going to like him.

What she doesn’t expect is Bellamy Blake.

He lives across the hall from them and is always around. He hangs out in their room constantly, which doesn’t make any sense since he seems to despise Clarke. All he does is pick fights with her—about everything—how she wears her uniform, the kind of music she listens to, even how she studies—“You color-code your notes, princess? Really?”

She mostly ignores him which only seems to bother him more, but it isn’t until he finds out she knows the headmaster that they have their first real fight.

Bellamy’s sitting on Miller’s bed, a book in his lap and Clarke’s telling Miller about something Monty said at lunch.

“…Wells agrees with me, you know. He thinks Monty—”

“Wait,” Bellamy cuts in, “Wells? As in, Wells Jaha? You’re friends with him?”

His tone is harsh and Clarke’s defenses spring up, “Yeah, I’m friends with him. I’ve known him since before I could walk. His dad is practically an uncle to me.”

Bellamy face turns incredulous, “You know Headmaster Jaha?”

“Yeah, so?”

He scoffs, “No wonder. I bet all you had to do to get into this school was make one phone call. They probably didn’t even look at your test scores. Must be nice, getting everything handed to you.”

Clarke recoils like she’s been slapped. Miller cuts in.

“Bellamy, you’re being an asshole.”

Clarke swallows, “No, Miller, it’s fine,” her gaze hardens and her words are sharp, “Bellamy obviously doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.” 

“Really, princess? Because what I think is that you’re nothing but a spoiled little rich girl who never had to work for anything in her life.”

“And you’re an asshole with a chip on his shoulder who thinks the world is out to get him,” she returns, anger hiding her hurt.

“At least I deserve to be going to this school,” he spits.

Clarke slams her textbooks shut, “Whatever, I don’t need to listen to this.” She stuffs her books into her backpack and turns to the door.

“I’m going to hang out in Monty’s room,” She tells Miller. His lips are puckered and his brow is furrowed, Clarke can tell he feels bad about what Bellamy said.

On her way to Monty’s room, she stops in the bathroom, shutting herself in a stall and locking the door. Angry tears well in her eyes, but she stuffs down the cry caught in her throat. She is _not_ going to cry because of Bellamy fucking Blake.

Monty’s studying on his bed with Raven when Clarke gets to his room and they both greet her with smiles. She collapses beside them, thankful that at least some of the people at this school aren’t assholes.

* * *

After that night, there’s more ire behind Bellamy’s comments. He doesn’t come by the room as much, but Clarke still sees him all the time. Half their classes are together. They throw insults like grenades and leaves bruises on each other’s skin using nothing but their words. It hurts—despising someone and being despised. It’s ugly and Clarke wishes that things were different. 

In English class, they get into an argument about the book they’re reading and it gets so bad that the teacher, Mrs. Sydney, kicks them out of class and gives them both detention for a week. 

The rest of the day, Clarke seethes. She’s never had detention before in her life. She doesn’t know what the hell got into her. Bellamy gets under her skin like no one else. He knows how to push all her buttons and she gets baited into fights even when she’s doing her best to ignore him.

When she gets to the classroom she’s stuck in for detention, it’s empty and she takes a seat at the back of the room. Bellamy comes in five minutes later and sits down one desk away, far too close for Clarke’s liking. She just wants to get through the hour without an incident.

Bellamy, it seems, has other plans.

“How’s prince charming?” he asks, referring to Wells. Bellamy likes to think he’s clever. 

“Wells is great, he’ll be so happy to hear you’re thinking of him,” she says with a fake smile, her tone sickly sweet.

“Did he ask you to go steady? Give you his class ring?”

“Why? Are you hoping you might still be able to take him to homecoming?”

“And leave the princess all alone?”

“Why do you hate Wells anyway? It’s not like it’s his fault his dad is headmaster.”

“No, but I don’t like that there are people who deserve to go here but don’t because they can’t afford it while other people get to stroll right in because they have money and connections.”

Her fingers tighten around her pencil, anger flares in her chest.

“You can’t seriously think that Wells doesn’t deserve to be at this school. He gets straight A’s and does more extracurricular activities than anyone. He barely sleeps.”

Bellamy looks away, “Well, there are other people here who aren’t as deserving.”

She grinds her teeth, “You mean like me?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You can hate me all you want, Bellamy, but I earned my place at this school. I applied and got in, just like everyone else. So while you may not believe it, but I know I deserve to be here.”

Even Bellamy’s silences are loud.

* * *

One Friday night, Monty manages to sneak in a bottle of rum—he’s got an older sister who’s twenty-one. That night, Clarke finds Monty and Raven at her door, wearing matching cheeky grins.

They pass the bottle around until their limbs are lose and their heads are fuzzy. They try to make a drinking game out of Uno, but it fails pretty much immediately and they end up just drinking and talking. The rum burns Clarke’s throat as it goes down but it starts a fire in her chest and she likes feeling warm.

Miller’s keeps smiling at Monty like he’s the prettiest thing he’s seen and Clarke and Raven exchange more than one pointed look. It’s fun to watch the boys dance around each other.

Around midnight, there’s a knock on the door. Miller is the least tipsy and turns down the music before he gets up to see who’s at the door. 

It’s Bellamy. (Of course.)

Clarke tips her head against Raven’s shoulder with an annoyed grumble. Raven laughs at the expression on Clarke’s face when Bellamy takes the seat beside her.

She doesn’t mean to say anything, but rum has removed her filter.

“No.”

Bellamy’s eyes dance, his lips look ready to tilt into a smile, “No what?”

“No, you can’t sit there,” she says, seriously. She ignores the way the room tilts and glares at him, glassy-eyed.

“It’s a free country, princess.’

“Why do you even want to sit next to me? You hate me, remember?” 

(She does not pout. She does not.)

The amusement vanishes, replaced with sincerity. It throws her. 

Bellamy’s voice is quiet when he replies, “I don’t hate you, Clarke.”

She frowns when he says her name. His eyes are soft.

She swallows.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” she states and takes a gulp straight from the bottle.

The rest of the night is fuzzy, but somehow Clarke ends up sprawled on Miller’s bed, Monty’s head in her lap, tucked into Bellamy’s side.

He’s warm and soft, he smells like paperback books and deep, dark woods. His breath fans her neck and she’s not sure if she imagines it when she feels his lips brush her hair.

She doesn’t know what to make of the change in him, but she decides to figure it out in the morning and lets herself fade into sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you're liking this fic. **Kudos and comments** are the best.


	3. October

**October**

She wakes up in the morning with Bellamy pressed against her back, their legs tangled together on top of the comforter. 

She thought she had Bellamy all figured out, but, after last night, she’s not so sure. 

In the days that follow, Clarke starts to notice that he’s acting differently around her. He stops spitting her name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He smiles at her when they lock eyes across a classroom. He asks her how her day is going, totally sincere.

The change is so extreme that, after a few days, Clarke can’t take it anymore.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Her outburst is in response to a benign comment about the weather and she feels a little ridiculous when Bellamy’s brow puckers in confusion. They’re seated on the grass outside, doing work. Miller’s grabbing a coffee, so it’s just the two of them. 

“What?” he replies, perplexed.

Clarke ignores the way sunshine outlines Bellamy’s hair in gold and makes his freckles stand out against his skin.

“You’ve been acting weird for days. What’s with you?”

“Nothing, I’m just being nice, Princess,” he bites.

“Exactly,” she states, “You’re never nice to me.”

His jaw works, “People change.”

“Not without a reason. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

She scoffs, “Bullshit.”

Bellamy sighs, giving in. 

“I talked to Wells.” Clarke waits for him to go on. “And I realized I was being an asshole. I was—I was angry about my own life and I was blaming you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“What were you angry about?” Clarkes asks, cautious, she’s not sure if this is dangerous territory.

Bellamy tears at the grass. 

“The school has been threatening to take away part of my scholarship. My mom got a new job, so they’re saying that I no longer qualify for a full-ride.”

“That’s bullshit, they can’t do that.” 

“Yeah, well, life is bullshit, Princess. At least for people like me.”

Clarke bites her lip, she and Bellamy never got along, but she knows he deserves to be here.

“I could—I could talk to Jaha if you want. You know, try to get him on your side.”

Bellamy’s head snaps up so quickly Clarke wonders how doesn’t give himself whiplash. 

“You don’t need to do that. That’s not—that’s not why I was being nice to you.”

She smiles, “I know, but I’ll talk to him anyway. You deserve to be here, Bellamy.”

When he meets her eyes her heart skips a beat, “You deserve to be going here too, Clarke.”

She turns back to face her work to hide her smile.  


* * *

  
After that, she and Bellamy don’t quite become friends, but they become something. They study together—they hang out when Monty hooks them up with liquor. It’s easy, companionable. And, now, when they argue, there’s no real spite behind their words, just grudging fondness.

Still, she never expects Bellamy to kiss her. 

It happens on a Saturday night. A group of them are gathered in Raven and Monroe’s room, passing two bottles of whiskey and vodka around, behaving exactly like the reckless teenagers they are. 

Monroe’s girlfriend, Harper, is the one who suggests they play truth or dare.

They get through a couple rounds before the game dissolves into delinquency.

Raven dares Wells to streak down the hallway. Clarke’s mouth drops when he gets up to actually do it. She closes her eyes and hides her face in the shoulder of the person beside her—she doesn’t want to be scarred for life. Wells is basically family; she’s known him since before she was _two_.

She realizes it’s Bellamy she’s hiding behind when he chuckles, his low laugh vibrating his chest.

“It’s okay to look now, Princess. Everyone’s decent,” he whispers, his warm breath grazing her ear. Clarke suppresses a shiver at the lower timbre of his voice.

Now that it’s his turn, Wells asks Miller if he’s ever kissed someone in this room and both Miller and Monty turn pink.

Bellamy laughs long and hard at the expression on his Miller’s face and Clarke watches her roommate’s embarrassment transform to deviance.

“Hey Bellamy, truth or dare?”

“Dare.” 

Miller smirks, “I dare you to kiss someone in this room.”

Monty and Raven make ‘ooh’ noises and Clarke grins. Bellamy fixes Miller with a hard stare. Clarke glances around the room, trying to guess who Bellamy is going to pick when his fingers catch her chin, his lips find hers, and all of a sudden Bellamy’s kissing her, his mouth warm and firm. 

It’s over before she can really process what’s happening and when Bellamy pulls away she just stares at him, dumbfounded. 

His cheeks are red but he clears his throat and shifts the attention over to Raven. She picks truth and he makes her recount her most embarrassing memory. Raven launches into the story, but Clarke can’t follow along. Her lips tingle and her eyes keep trailing back to Bellamy. More than once she looks over to find him already watching her. Each time she catches him, he looks away quickly and all it does is leave her feeling more confused.

A few more rounds go by. Clarke admits that she thinks Raven is the most attractive person in the room and Monty is forced to drink a disgusting concoction made out of everything in Monroe and Raven’s fridge. 

It’s almost 1 am when Clarke excuses herself. 

Her favorite place on campus is the roof of the dorm. She comes up here sometimes when she’s talking to her dad on the phone or when she just needs a break. 

The door that leads to the roof sticks, but when Clarke shoves it with her shoulder it swings open with a bang. The sky is heavy and dark with night, the stars winking from the heavens. Clarke folds her arms against the cold and pulls the sleeves of her sweater down to cover her hands. 

She loves this time of night. The world stretches out to infinity and anything seems possible. Even Bellamy when he stumbles out onto the roof a few minutes later.

She sitting on the cold concrete her arms wrapped around her knees, staring up at the sky. He settles beside her, his warm and woodsy smell tickling her nose.

She doesn’t know what she expects him to say, but it sure as hell isn’t “I’m sorry.”

“What?” she turns to look at him.

“I—I shouldn’t have just kissed you like that. I should have asked or…something. I’m sorry.” 

He taps his fingers against his knee, a nervous tell. He stares out into the night, pointedly not looking at her. 

Clarke doesn’t say anything for a while, thinking, trying to get her thoughts in order. Then she turns so she’s facing Bellamy, her knee bumping against his thigh. He looks at her, his shoulders tense, like he’s rearing for a fight.

But, when Clarke slides a cold hand into his hair, raw surprise smears his face. Clarke leans in slowly, her eyes flickering between his eyes and his mouth. She pauses right before their lips touch where she can feel his warm breath scatter across her lips. He smells like cheap whiskey and wonder.

She tips her head forward until her forehead rests against Bellamy’s. His hand falls to her knee and she wonders if this moment is a precipice—if they’re about to tip over into something vast.

“Did you kiss me because you wanted to or because Miller dared you?” she asks; the question feels deceptively big. 

His eyes fall shut, “Because I wanted to,” he whispers.

“Do you want to kiss me now?” Their noses brush. Butterflies dance in her stomach.

Bellamy’s eyes open and his gaze finds her lips, “ _God_ , yes.”

And with that, she kisses him. It starts slow, a spark catching light, but then Bellamy slides his tongue into her mouth and Clarke ignites. 

They chase each other, racing towards incineration. His hands find her hips when she slides forward. His fingers brush her bare skin and leave her scorched.

She bites his bottom lip and he groans. He presses into her, his previous hesitation turning to ash. He’s an inferno, there’s fire on his lips and smoke in his lungs. 

She slides her hands across his shoulders, her nails dig into his skin when he scrapes his teeth down her throat. Her hands find their way beneath his shirt to the warm planes of his stomach. 

They kiss and kiss and kiss until the world withers around them—until their worries and lives turn to ash. She kisses him until she forgets herself and all she knows is the way his body feels pressed against her lines, his hand in her hair and his mouth on her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave **kudos and comments**! Seriously, it makes a huge difference.


	4. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They catch each other in closets in the break between classes. They skip lunch to tangle tongues and chase ecstasy with greedy hands and lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm opting for shorter chapters, but quicker updates. Hope that's okay:)

**November**

After that night, she and Bellamy find a new arrangement. They not quite friends and they aren’t dating, but they’re each other’s escape—their release. 

They catch each other in closets in the break between classes. They skip lunch to tangle tongues and chase ecstasy with greedy hands and lips. 

It’s fun, finding each other in hidden corners. They share secret glances across crowded classrooms. They create their own language of looks, they learn to hide questions in simple sentences. 

Around their friends, they still bicker, but now Clarke can see a softness in Bellamy’s gaze and her words never manage to hold much bite.

It’s been weeks of stolen moments when their arrangement betrays its holes.

Clarke and Wells are sitting on her bed, their backs against the wall, fitted snugly together as they watch Parks and Rec on the laptop balanced between their laps. 

There’s a quick knock at the door. The knob turns and Bellamy bursts inside the room before Clarke even has a chance to pause the episode.

“Miller! Raven said that you made flashcards for—” Bellamy’s voice cuts off when he catches sight of Clarke and Wells on her bed. His face hardens. Clarke watches his soft eyes turn to stone.

“Sorry, I didn’t know I was interrupting,” he says, tone cold.

“You weren’t. By this point, I know I have to lock the door if I don’t want you barging in,” Clarke teases.

But Bellamy doesn't look at her, his is gaze fixed on Wells. 

“Jaha, you mind giving us a minute?”

Wells glances at Clarke, looking as confused as she feels. 

“Yeah, no problem,” Wells slides off the bed and sets the laptop down on Clarke’s desk before sliding past Bellamy into the hallway.

The door closes with a click. 

“What is with you?” Clarke asks. Every line of Bellamy’s body looks tense.

“Me? Don’t even try to pull that shit, Clarke. Listen, I know I didn’t like Wells before, but he’s a good guy and I’m not okay with being your…distraction.”

Clarke stares at him in disbelief. He can’t seriously think… She snorts, unable to suppress her laugh at the stony, serious look on his face.

“Bellamy, nothing’s going on between me and Wells. We’re just friends.”

He still watching her, wary. Clarke gets up from the bed and comes to stand in front of Bellamy. She presses a kiss to his neck.

“Seriously, there’s nothing going on there. There never was.”

His shoulders drop, losing some of their tension. His hands settle on her waist.

“Really?”

She pulls away to meet his eyes, “Yes, really. I—” she swallows and her eyes flick to the carpet, “There’s no one else, okay?”

Bellamy’s gaze softens, he leans in to kiss her, wet and long.

“There’s no one else for me either.”

He pecks Clarke’s mouth one more time before turning to the door, leaving her with a stupid happy smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of the chapter. You can also come find me on [my tumblr](http://antebellamy.tumblr.com/) if you want to fangirl or chat :)


	5. December

**December**

Being with Bellamy is easy. Clarke loves the way they steal moments. She loves tasting him on her tongue and losing herself in his kiss.

But. She finds herself missing him more and more when he leaves, the bite mark on her shoulder already fading to pink. She wishes she knew him better. She wishes she knew more than just how he likes to be kissed and how to use her fingers to leave him breathless and desperate for more. 

They’re hiding in an empty classroom during an assembly, exchanging shallow breaths, when Clarke finally finds the courage to say something. 

“What are we doing here?” she asks, her breath still short. 

Bellamy pauses in the middle of buttoning up his shirt.

His brow furrows, “What do you mean?”

“What are we doing? Is this just a hook up? Because I don’t think it is for me. Not anymore. And if you—”

Bellamy cuts off her with a soft kiss then smiles at her, cheeky, “Sorry, you were on the verge of a ramble.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes and he pecks the corner of her moth again, quick. 

“I thought you wanted casual, so I was following your lead. But if you want more I—” he clears his throat and meets her eyes, “I want everything with you, Clarke.”

“Me too,” she smiles, “I want everything with you.”

Bellamy’s grin is happier than she’s ever seen it and the sight makes her heart beat loud in her ears.

He tugs her into another kiss, soft and slow. Her toes curl.

He pulls away, smile crooked, “So, what you’re saying is, you want to go steady with me, Princess.”

Clarke laughs, her heart light.  


* * *

  
Miller snorts when they tell him. 

“Took you idiots long enough.” When he notices their expressions, he laughs, “What? Did you guys think I didn’t notice the way you were sneaking around and how Clarke kept coming back to the room with hickeys on her neck?” he rolls his eyes, “Give me a little credit.”  


* * *

  
Transitioning into dating Bellamy is surprisingly effortless. She loves that she can kiss his cheek where anyone can see. She hides her smile in his shoulder the first time he reaches for her hand in the hallway. 

She loves that they don’t just kiss now, they talk. She learns about Bellamy’s family—his younger sister Octavia and his mother who works two jobs just to pay the bills. 

On a Thursday after class, they’re on one of the couches in the lounge, Clarke’s legs across Bellamy’s lap, his hand on her knee. He’s telling her about the day he found out he got accepted into Arkadia with a full ride. His mom had taken him and Octavia to Bellamy’s favorite restaurant for dinner to celebrate and they’d even shelled out for dessert. 

“It was one of the best days of my life,” he says, playing with Clarke’s fingers, “I guess that’s probably sad.” 

Clarke threads her fingers through his and tugs his hand to make him look at her. 

“It’s not sad. Not at all,” Bellamy’s lips are tight, she tries for a smile, “One of my favorite memories is of Wells’ tenth birthday when we played laser tag. _That’s_ sad.”

There. Lips pulled wide in a grin. Bright and blinding.  


* * *

  
Monty and Bellamy are hanging out in Clarke and Miller’s room one night doing homework when Monty asks Clarke and Bellamy how they started.

Bellamy puts his book aside and shrugs, the movement jostling the arm he has curled around Clarke’s shoulders.

“I don’t know. I guess it was always there for me.”

Clarke turns to look at him, incredulous, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy replies, his smile a little lopsided.

Miller snorts, “Bellamy had a crush on Clarke that the first day.”

Clarke laughs and shoves Bellamy’s chest lightly, “Are you kidding me? I thought you hated me.”

Bellamy cheeks pink, but he doesn’t drop her gaze, he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Trust me, I never hated you, Princess.”

Miller throws a pillow at them when Clarke kisses Bellamy—“Get a room!”

Bellamy lobs the pillow back over at Miller while Clarke laughs.

“Children,” Miller mutters under his breath. 

Clarke sticks her tongue out and Monty snorts. She’s smiling when she settles back into Bellamy’s side and he presses a soft kiss to her shoulder.  


* * *

  
She doesn’t expect to miss Bellamy as much as she does when she goes home for break. She’d gotten used to having him by her side or just a few minutes away—always within reach. But, now, he’s miles away and it feels like there’s a gap in her chest.

They text constantly. Wells teases Clarke about how her eyes keep straying to her phone and the way just the trill of her text tone makes a smile spread across her face. 

She knows she’s being ridiculous, but she can’t bring herself to care.  


* * *

  
New Year’s Eve, Bellamy calls her. 

“How’s the party?” 

Clarke closes the glass door behind her shutting off the noise inside the room.

“Nothing special. How’s Octavia?”

Bellamy sighs, “She went to friend’s house to celebrate. Turns out hanging out with your older brother on New Year’s Eve is lame.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Bell. I know you were looking forward to hanging out with her.”

“It’s okay, we’ve spent a lot of time together since I got home. She was bound to get sick of me eventually. Besides,” there’s a smile in his voice, “New Year’s Eve is overrated.”

She huffs, “Whatever.” 

It’s a dispute they’ve had before, always half-joking. 

In Bellamy’s opinion celebrating the advent of the new year is pointless while Clarke likes the idea of a fresh start—a blank slate to paint whatever colors you want that year. 

There’s a pause. Party music thumps through the wall. Clarke leans her back against the cold brick. She’s not ready to hang up yet even though she knows she should head back into the party soon. Wells will be looking for her.

“Hey, Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“If I were there, I’ d kiss you at midnight.”

She smiles, “I miss you too.”

“Happy New Year, Clarke.”

“Happy New Year, Bellamy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please make sure to leave a comment letting me know if you liked the chapter!


	6. January

**January**

When Clarke gets back to school the first thing she does is try to find Bellamy. It’s only been three weeks, but she misses him so much it feels like an actual ache in her chest. 

She finds him on their roof, he’s stretched out, his back against the concrete and his nose red from the cold. He must hear the door open, but he doesn’t turn to look. Clarke freezes in the doorframe, her heart so loud it drowns out all other sound. All that’s left is the beat, beat, beat of her heart and the truth hanging in a cloud of cold air before her.

_I love him._

She loves him. She loves the way he speaks with his whole body—mouth, eyes, and hands. She loves the way he bites his tongue when he’s working on an essay and trying to get the wording just right. She loves the way he smiles, sunshine spilling across water—a casual miracle.

She must not stand there for long, but it feels like the whole world shifts on its axis to accommodate her. 

Bellamy finally looks over when she takes a seat beside him. His eyes widen and he sits up. 

She kisses him before he can say anything and he falls back to the concrete, only, this time, he’s tangled with her. Cold fingers trail goose bumps across warm skin, wet mouths tangle. Bellamy’s lips are chapped and his nose feels like a block of ice against her cheek, but his breath is warm and he tastes perfect—like hope.

“I missed you,” he breathes.

She barely manages to tell him she missed him too, overwhelmed by the drums in her ribcage and three little words on her lips.

She isn’t brave enough to say them yet so she kisses her way across his jaw to the juncture of his neck. 

They lose time, adrift in their own world on top of that roof. When they finally emerge, their cheeks are pricked pink from the wind and their smiles are giddy and wide.

  


* * *

  


(Bellamy ends up being the one to say it first.)

It’s Saturday morning, and Clarke wakes up with Bellamy in her bed. They’re pressed against the wall with barely any room to breathe, her standard issue bed not made to fit two people. But Bellamy’s warm at her back and his hand traces slow circles on her stomach so she can’t say she minds the fit. 

He presses a kiss to the nape of her neck.

Clarke’s voice is rusty from sleep, “Morning,” she whispers, careful not to wake Miller. 

She yawns and glances at the clock on her desk. 9 am, damn. 

His voice brings confession before coffee. 

“I love you,” he says softly, almost a whisper. 

She turns, her shoulder presses into his chest but he doesn’t move away. His eyes are steady. She brushes a curl back from his forehead.

“I love you too,” she breathes. It’s the easiest secret she’s ever told. 

He smiles and kisses her, sleep and morning fresh on his tongue. 

Clarke doesn’t know how long they lie there, exchanging declarations with kisses instead of words, all she knows is that this time when she woke up it wasn’t from a dream, but into one.

  


* * *

  


There’s a heavy knock at the door. It’s past midnight on a Wednesday. Clarke and Miller exchange a glance, equally bewildered.

Clarke opens the door to find Bellamy at the threshold, looking beaten and broken by the world. A bottle of vodka dangles loosely between his fingers and Clarke grabs his arm and pulls him inside quickly before someone in the hallway can see.

Bellamy trips and stumbles into the bed, Miller catches his shoulder.

“What’s wrong? Did your mom call? Is Octavia okay?” He asks in quick succession. Bellamy glances up, bleary eyed and it takes him a moment to respond.

“Octavia’s fine,” he slurs. He sits down on Clarke’s bed and takes another pull from the bottle, barely grimacing. 

Clarke gently pries the bottle away, she shoves it in the bottom drawer of her desk and lets Bellamy grip her hand instead once she takes a seat beside him. Miller stays standing, his brow crinkled with worry.

“Bell, what happened?” Clarke prods lightly.

Bellamy gulps and stares at the ground, “The school took away half my scholarship money.”

“But I thought Jaha—”

His fingers tighten around hers, “Jaha tried to help, but it wasn’t up to him. Apparently there are other people who are more in need of the money than I am. Which might be true, but—” Bellamy rubs a hand across his face, “But the only reason I can go here is because I got a full-ride,” he sighs, a bitter, shattered sound, “This school was my best shot at getting into a good college.”

Clarke glances at Miller, he looks as lost for words as she is. 

“There has to be something else you can do. Can you file an appeal?” Miller tries.

Bellamy's face grows dark, his jaw clicks.

“The board said this was their ‘final decision,’” he spits, “They basically told me there’s no way to change their ruling. Not unless my mom were to lose her new job.”

Clarke’s so angry her voice shakes, “That’s bullshit.” 

“Yeah, well, life is bullshit, Princess.”

When he says her nickname an idea trickles in. She looks at Bellamy—at the utter defeat painted into his features. 

Resolve hardens in her chest.

The school board might have reached their final decision, but this is far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please make sure to tell me what you thought of the chapter in the comments below!
> 
> (What do you think Clarke's going to do? How did you like the confession scene?)


	7. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her first act of rebellion is center stage on Friday morning.

**February**

She paints the world blue, green, red, and black. She leaves her mark on the side of the library. Colors stain her fingers and won’t wash off beneath her nails. She paints them black to hide the evidence of her transgression. 

Her first act of rebellion is center stage on Friday morning. 

Whispers crowd the hallways, everyone’s talking about her art. Clarke hides a smile when she hears one her classmates call the artist “a hero.”

She picked Atlas for a reason. The god who buckled beneath the weight of the world. This time, she changes the story. Atlas stands strong, resolute determination in every line of his face and curve of his muscle. He lifts the world above his head, defying all odds. Red drips from his nose and the world stains his fingers, but his eyes and arms are steady.

At lunch, it’s all anyone can talk about. No one knows who is behind the painting that appeared overnight. Monroe asks if anyone knows what the picture is of and Bellamy pipes up. 

“It’s Atlas,” he says. He picks at his food, but there’s a small smile on his face, “The God who endured the weight of the world.”

The look on his face—the first soft smile Clarke’s seen since Bellamy found out about the school board’s decision—makes every minute of lost sleep and every blink of fear worth it.

It starts as an act of defiance, but it becomes a way to show Bellamy and anyone else who might need it, that they’re not alone. 

The second mural appears a week later. It’s smaller than the first, and this one blemishes the brick wall in the courtyard. A young boy stands on dead and barren land, flowers blooming from his fingertips. Beneath the boy are words. 

“You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.” 

It’s a quote by Pablo Neruda and when Bellamy, Clarke, and their friends sit in the courtyard at lunch like they always do, Bellamy’s eyes keep drifting over to the brick wall, his mouth tipping up in a smile.  


* * *

  
People are fascinated by her portraits. They whisper, talk, and argue about the art she leaves scattered across campus. Kids take pictures and save them on their phones. They upload them to their social media and soon Facebook and Tumblr are exploding with depictions of titan gods and young boys.

It takes the school a week to take down the first mural. Atlas stands for days, right in the center of campus. Jaha and the board are furious. They release a statement that the perpetrator will be caught and “punished accordingly,” but they don’t seem to have any more idea of who could be behind the “destruction of school property” than the students themselves.

Three weeks and four “defaced” walls later, they start dragging kids into the office for questions. The problem is no one has any answers. No one knows who the artist could be. The only clue anyone has is that all the pieces are signed with a blue crown.  


* * *

  
Campus is her canvas and Bellamy is who Clarke dedicates her paintings to. She paints to him—for him. She lights a candle on the side of a science building. (“Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light,” from his favorite Harry Potter book). She paints Icarus, with wings made of gold, soaring through the sky, infinite. _Don’t stop yourself from reaching for the sun_ , she thinks when she watches Bellamy take in the sight, eyes wide with wonder.

Some nights she paints with big sweeping strokes, leaving her heart on the wall, but sometimes she’s strapped for time and only manages to cover a corner. But, she always picks a spot that she knows Bellamy will pass on his way to class. She always paints for him.

Bellamy doesn’t know Clarke’s the one behind the graffiti that has the whole school flipped on its side. He doesn’t even know she can draw and it makes his fascination with the paint she spills all the more gratifying. He’s entranced, he and Monty spend most lunches discussing whichever newest portrait and conjecturing about who it might be. (Bellamy wonders if it could be that kid Murphy who’s always in detention, while Monty thinks it might be a sophomore named Maya.) Neither one of them notices how Wells glances over at Clarke during these speculations, a knowing glint in his eye. 

He’d figured it out the first day. After all, Wells and Clarke grew up together, she’s been showing him her sketches for years. He’s known how she loved art since elementary school when she was constantly covered in half-drying paint. 

But Wells is the only person who knows. Not even Miller seems to realize it’s Clarke. When she goes out, she waits until three, sometimes four in the morning before sliding out of bed and creeping across campus—like a shadow against the night. 

After a few weeks, she’s running on no sleep and Bellamy’s smiles, but though she swims in exhaustion she lacks regret. Bellamy is still struggling to figure out how he’s going to manage to pay for Arkadia next year—he’s been looking into scholarships outside the school with little luck—and her art shines rays of happiness across his life.  


* * *

  
She makes her first mistake when she gets too personal.

It’s in reaction to Cage Wallace, a senior at Arkadia and the asshole son of one of the members of the school board. 

Clarke and Bellamy are walking back to the dorms when he calls out to them from where he’s leaning against the wall surrounded by his friends. They’re smoking—a direct violation of the school’s policy, but Cage doesn’t seem to be worried.

“Blake! My father tells me that you applied to the school _again_ for financial aid. Tell me, what’s it like to have to beg for something on your hands and knees?” he sneers. He steps forward taking a drag from the cigarette, Clarke tightens her fingers around Bellamy’s hand, hoping he’ll just ignore Cage and walk away, but he stops and turns to face Cage.

Bellamy starts to say something, but half way through Cage exhales, blowing smoke into Bellamy’s face and making him cough. Bellamy lets go of Clarke’s hand and spits on the ground. He clenches his jaw as both his hands flex and curl into fists. His eyes and every line of his mouth and shoulders turn to stone.

Anger trembles in his eyes, but he doesn’t move. He just glares at Cage until amusement dies in the pompous boy’s face. Cage seems to recognize the threat in Bellamy’s eyes and he swallows, suddenly nervous. Bellamy takes a step forward.

Cage starts, almost tripping on his feet in an effort to get away, but Bellamy doesn’t follow through with a swing. 

“Tell me, what’s it like to be a coward who never had to earn a thing he’s got?” Bellamy asks, cold. 

He leaves Cage spluttering and turns to walk away. Clarke pauses before following. She scowls at Cage and barely keeps herself from throwing a punch at Cage herself.

That night she tags the front wall of the Wallace Gymnasium, spiteful fire in her veins. 

She draws five figures cloaked in shadows, they sit on thrones made of gold, coins and bills scattered and crumpled beneath their feet. A puddle of red drips from the thrones. Surrounding them are stained and scattered sheets of paper that read _Arkadia School Board_ and, beneath it all, Clarke writes: “Greed bleeds the world dry.” 

The next day, Bellamy gets summoned to the headmaster’s office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get this story completed by the end of the weekend, but please **comment** on the chapters (including this one!) to let me know your thoughts!! 
> 
> Comments make me update faster and are the best way to let me know if you're enjoying the story :)


	8. March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter after this! Please leave a comment with your thoughts :)

**March**

Clarke waits in Bellamy’s room for him to get back from his meeting with Jaha. She can’t keep still so she paces, guilt pumping like poison through her veins while nerves spark her skin. 

Finally, the door opens.

“Oh, thank God.”

“Clarke? What are you doing here?”

“I was worried. Wells told me that his dad thought you were the one behind the graffiti.”

Bellamy lets out a heavy breath, “Yeah, apparently after the painting on the library this morning, someone pointed the finger at me.”

“Cage,” Clarke sighs.

He nods.

“But what did Jaha say? Is he going to punish you?”

Bellamy snorts, “No, they don’t have any proof, only Cage’s wild accusation. They even searched my locker and my backpack but didn’t find anything. I guess they were hoping I would be carrying around spray paint or brushes. But, I gotta say, I’d be surprised if whoever is behind all this was dumb enough to lug around evidence in their backpack.”

Clarke smiles. 

“So they can’t do anything.”

He shakes his head and flops onto his bed, reaching a hand out to Clarke. She steps forward and lets him pull her onto the bed beside him. 

“Did Jaha seem convinced you were responsible?”

“No, he’s just scrambling for leads. It’s pretty incredible how the artist is getting away with it.”

Clarke runs her fingers along Bellamy’s soft cotton shirt.

“Did you get a chance to see the new mural? Before Jaha dragged you to his office?”

Bellamy’s laugh is warm. His hand traces circles on her shoulder and she looks at him—freckled stars and a study in soft browns. A small smile lifts her lips.

“Yeah, Atlas is still my favorite, but this one was… epic.”

Clarke laughs and tucks her face into his chest, “I was hoping you’d like it.” She freezes when she realizes what she just said.

Bellamy’s hand stills on her shoulder. His voice is off when he replies. 

“Yeah?”

She swallows and curls her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. He’s already been dragged into her mess—the meeting today proved that—he deserves to know her secret too. 

“I always paint them for you,” she whispers, hiding her words in his shirt.

She waits for Bellamy to say something. Chewing on her breath.

He moves so quickly she barely knows what’s happening. Between one moment and the next, Bellamy’s weight is on top of her. He kisses her until her breath absconds and she has to chase air in gasps. 

When Bellamy finally speaks, it’s into the skin of her collarbone, “I want to help.”

“Help?” Clarke asks, lost, still swimming in his touch.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you do this alone once I knew, did you?”

Her mouth drops in surprise. 

“The school’s already looking into you for this, Bellamy. You can’t afford to get caught.”

He nips her jaw, “If you think I’m going to let you have all the fun while I sit back and watch, then you must not know me very well.”

At that, she grins.

“I guess I should have known there was a rebel in you.”

He flashes her a grin, edgy and enigmatic, “Damn straight.” 

He kisses her again, then pulls back to meet her eyes. 

“Together.”

She nods, “Together.”  


* * *

  
Having a partner in crime makes it all the more exciting. She and Bellamy steal away at night and share tired smiles in the morning. Secrets between sips of coffee.

It feels like those first few weeks with him. The rush of knowing you could be caught at any time. It’s heart-pumping excitement and Clarke doesn’t ever want to crest from this high.

The first time they go out, she starts small. Her last mural ruffled some feathers and since then the school has buckled down on security at night. It’s even more important that she not get caught now that Bellamy is by her side.

She tags the side of the gym. She paints the outline of a group with their fists raised in unison. She smiles when Bellamy makes a suggestion. Beneath the rebels she writes, “Whatever the hell we want.”

Black paint is still drying on her fingers when Bellamy pulls her into an alcove on the walk back. 

It’s exhilarating—the fear, the possibility of getting caught. Bellamy slides a hand beneath her shirt and she tangles stained fingers in his hair. He groans into her mouth when she tightens her grip. His tongue traces hers and his dry lips chase away the cold, dark night.

She knows they should get back, but she allows herself a few minutes of getting lost before she pulls away and they head back, both their chests rising and falling rapidly from the adrenaline of transgression and one another’s kiss.

The next day, Bellamy hides a smile when Monty and Monroe eagerly discuss the new mural. He pulls Clarke into a closet on the way to their next class, eagerly pressing his smile into her skin.

(She loves the taste of rebellion on his lips.)  


* * *

  
The week they get back from spring break, Bellamy comes up with an idea for the next mural.

That Wednesday night, Clarke paints Hades and Persephone walking hand in hand to the gates of hell—the entrance to the school. She’s just finished the flowers in Persephone’s hair and the black flames of Hades’ cloak and has just begun on the flames meant to surround the gated entrance to Arkadia. 

She’s sitting on Bellamy’s shoulders, straining to reach the top, when a noise and flash of light burst behind them.

Mr. Shumway, the head of security, shines his flashlight in their eyes. A smug smile spreads across his face.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget, **comments and kudos** are the ultimate way to let me know if you're liking the story!
> 
> You can also come chat with me on [my tumblr <3](http://antebellamy.tumblr.com/)


	9. April/May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April showers bring May flowers or...The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter, I hope you guys enjoyed this story! If you did, please give this story **kudos** and leave a **comment** to let me know!

**April**

Bellamy holds her hand like an anchor. Like it’s his last tether to safety—to hope. He clutches her fingers and she clutches his back. She squeezes his hand and hopes he hears all the words she can’t say. 

_I’m sorry._

He looks over and she knows he heard her.

Headmaster Jaha clears his throat and they both turn to face forward.

“I have to say, I’m very disappointed in both of you. I never expected such… delinquency from two of my best students. And Miss Griffin, this only your second semester at Arkadia, your mother will be so disappointed.”

Clarke swallows and stares at the edge of his desk.

“As you both know, Arkadia upholds a very strict honor code. Your actions have been a serious violation and as such a hearing will be conducted to determine whether or not this crime warrants expulsion.”

“Headmaster,” Clarke grasps her courage with clammy fingers, “It was all me.” 

Bellamy’s head snaps over to look at her. His fingers tighten around her hand. 

“I’m the one behind the murals and graffiti. I’m the one who’s been tagging the school for months. Bellamy wasn’t a part of it, he’s not responsible,” she takes a deep breath, “I take full responsibility for my actions. If anyone should get expelled, it’s me.”

Bellamy opens his mouth like he’s going to speak, but Clarke looks at him, a wordless plea, and he reluctantly stays silent. A muscle jumps in his jaw, but he knows what she’s thinking. (She might be able to get out of this, he won’t.)

Jaha sighs, “Clarke—Miss Griffin, you were both caught in front of the half-completed work last night.”

“But I was the only one holding a can, you can ask Mr. Shumway.”

Jaha steeples his fingers against his temple. 

Thelonious Jaha has been practically family to Clarke all her life. She’s seen him countless times across birthdays and holidays, she’s seen him over dinner and during family getaways. If there’s anyone who might be able to garner Jaha’s sympathy (besides Wells) it would be her.

“Do you remember what you said to me when I got my acceptance letter to Arkadia?” she asks quietly.

Jaha looks over at her. His hand falls, but his frown remains.

“You said ‘This school can give you the tools to make a difference in this world,’” Clarke smiles, weakly, “This probably wasn’t what you were expecting, but I think I did make a difference. At least for some people.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Bellamy smiles. The sight buoys her.

_It was worth it._

The threat of a smile curls in the corner of Jaha’s mouth, “Your artwork really was something beautiful to behold.”  


* * *

  
Bellamy and Miller wait outside while Clarke has her hearing with the school board. 

It takes a generous donation and the rest of Clarke’s foreseeable afternoons spent washing the walls she “ruined,” but, somehow, her mother manages to convince the school not to expel her and keep the suspension from her permanent record. 

(If there was ever an example of privilege, this was it.)

When they let her out, Clarke throws her arms around Bellamy’s neck and sinks into him—she can’t quite explain the safety of his arms. 

“You’re looking at the luckiest delinquent in Arkadia.” 

Bellamy lets out a relieved laugh, “Thank god.” 

He pulls back and presses a kiss to her temple, keeping an arm around her waist. 

Miller smiles at Clarke, unrestrained, and she grins back.

“Looks like you guys are stuck with me for another year.”

Bellamy stiffens, “Well, I don’t know—”

She cuts him off with a hand on his mouth and a smile. 

“Did you know that there's a rule that the school board has to be made up of the parents of current students?” she asks, dropping her hand and cocking an eyebrow.

Bellamy shakes his head, confused. 

“Well, it’s true. And since Cage Wallace is graduating this year, it seems that Dante doesn’t have the right to rule on decisions for students next year. At least, that’s what my mother and Jaha argued.”

Bellamy’s frown deepens while Miller’s eyes widen.

“When the board sided with my mom, they made it clear that all their previous decisions regarding students next year would be revoked. One of which includes determining the scholarship money for students with financial aid.” 

Bellamy stares at her in amazement. 

“You mean…?”

She nods, breaking into a smile, “You’ve still got a full scholarship to Arkadia for your senior year!” 

Bellamy picks her up and spins her around. Golden laughter—music in the mouths of three teenagers—fills the room. 

Her feet find the ground but she’s still flying when Bellamy kisses her. It’s slow—messy with teeth and smiles. Their eager lips try to express all the emotion pounding in their chests. 

Miller groans and leaves them to go find Monty, muttering under his breath about “melodramatic assholes.”

Bellamy huffs against her mouth but doesn’t pull back. Instead, he nips her bottom lip, slides his hand into her hair, and deepens the kiss. 

Clarke doesn’t think joy ever tasted sweeter.  


**May**

Warm sunshine. A soft breeze. Summer stretches out before them, testing its legs.

The Eagles slip through the speakers on Bellamy’s phone nestled in the grass. 

Bellamy’s head is in Clarke’s lap while she combs her fingers through his hair. They’re sprawled across the green, soaking up spring. 

Beside them, Miller grins at Monty as he tells a story, gesticulating wildly with his hands. 

A little further away, Wells leans over to tease Raven, softness betraying sincerity of feeling as fondness leaks in his gaze and pink colors her cheeks.

It’s a perfect moment. Flowers perfume the air and the sky is infinite and blue, spotted with cottony white clouds. Clarke looks down at the boy in her lap and thinks of how far they’ve come since the day they met. 

She leans down and kisses Bellamy, grateful that her first impression of him turned out to be so wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the ending, thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> As always, **kudos and comments** are the best way to let me know if you enjoyed this story. You can also [find me on tumblr if you want to chat](http://antebellamy.tumblr.com/) <3


End file.
